


'Tis the Season For Giving

by julliel



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Confusion, Darcy/Steve Holiday Fic/Art Exchange, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Friendship, Misunderstandings, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julliel/pseuds/julliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Guys like Steve just didn't fall in love with Darcy. Those were just the rules. Whose rules? Who knows, but she's not eager to make herself out to be a fool and put herself out there when there's a 99.99% chance that the only thing Darcy will achieve by pursuing him would just be an unwanted awkwardness for both parties."</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Tis the Season For Giving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlynnisIsta8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlynnisIsta8/gifts).



> Prompts:
> 
> -Darcy meets Bucky looking at a toy store window display and convinces him to 'turn himself in'/come home to Steve... "I brought a friend for Christmas!"  
> -Steve coming inside from an ice/snow storm and starts stripping, only to THEN notice Darcy by the fire w/ cocoa, marshmallows, blankets... "Huh! I guess even naughty girls get their Christmas wish sometimes!"  
> -Darcy gets drunk and tells the office party Santa what she wants for Christmas, not knowing that he's Steve in disguise
> 
> Squicks and elements to avoid:
> 
> not OT3 or M/M, please
> 
> ****12/11/15 Fair Warning: Steve is sort of an asshole in this fic? I didn't think so while writing this, but if general dick-ishness squicks you out please don't continue.**

 

Darcy swears that she doesn't do any of these things on purpose. They just happen. To her. Totally out of her control.

 

It starts with an office Christmas party. Why do they have one when they're already having a secret Santa giving/actual Christmas party planned? Who knows. Maybe Tony wanted to try a bourgeoisie tradition and got it into his head that they need an “office” party complete with cheap décor and a water cooler full of peppermint hot chocolate.

 

What she does know is that she'd been harboring a longtime crush on the resident patriotic hero, and Darcy knew better than to think it was a requited crush, not here or in any other alternate universe. Guys like Steve just didn't fall in love with Darcy. Those were just the rules. Whose rules? Who knows, but she's not eager to make herself out to be a fool and put herself out there when there's a 99.99% chance that the only thing Darcy will achieve by pursuing him would just be an unwanted awkwardness for both parties.

 

So she does what she does best when falling for guys like him, which is admire him from afar. Very far. So far that even Jane pities her, and that scientist usually pays no mind to anything not having to do with astrophysics or Thor.

 

Too bad Steve isn't here to admire from a distance so she distracts herself by sipping more of the egg nog than she initially planned to. Classy? Probably not but she feels good and she can fantasize easier that she's no longer a plain assistant but rather a vixen who can land any man she pleases.

 

Jane comes by with a rare twinkle in her eye, pushing Darcy in the direction of the office Santa, hired by some poor schlop about to lose his job. What kind of person would think to host a holiday party (with the Avengers!) and employ some cheap Santa-for-hire? It's not any of Darcy's concern because she's drunk as hell and Santa's lap looks more and more inviting the closer she gets.

 

She hobbles into his lap, flopping her arm across his shoulders... huh. Santa is hunkier than she remembers.

 

She leans into his ear, lips brushing against the shell. “Do you know what I want for Christmas, Santa?”

 

A gruff voice lets out. “What do you want for Christmas, Miss Lewis?” She should find it strange that the company Rent-A-Santa already knew her name, but she doesn't because Darcy is in a happy place right now.

 

“I want Captain America to...” She whispers the rest into his ear where no one else may listen.

 

Santa's face burns red as a lobster. He sits up abruptly, causing Darcy to topple into a clumsy mess on the floor. The beard askew and the hat fallen off, it's easy to see that Santa Claus is none other than Steve Rogers. Fucking hell.

 

“Sorry, little girl, Santa needs to...”

 

He shoots a panicked look to an amused Natasha, playing as Santa's elf helper slash assassin(?), who saves him by saying, “His cookie break.”

 

“-Yes! That. Cookie break. I must go. Goodbye.” He dashes off, knocking over the punchbowl of eggnog in the process. Tony mourns the wasted booze, then becomes inspired to order an eggnog _fountain_. 

 

Darcy stays on the floor, willing her life to end at that moment, until someone lifts her up and declares she needs to go home. She begs them to at least let her try to bleach the memory away with more alcohol before she goes. The person agrees. 

 

=

 

Thankfully, the person who picks her up off the floor is none other than Sam Wilson whose idea of “go home” was actually take her back to his current pad in Avengers tower. Because he too is drunk as hell and escorting her to her actual home was not something he's able to do at this time.

 

“Oh God, I'm so fucking embarrassed!”

 

Sam laughs and his laugh sounds like a chorus of jingle bells. He throws a brawny arm across her shoulders, his warmth suffusing into her. She decides she likes it. But his jolly mood isn't enough to distract her from her mortification so she resumes hiding in her sweater sleeves to stave off her hot blush.

 

“Don't feel so bad.”

 

“Ugh, I just made a complete ass of myself in front of Captain America, and you're telling me not to feel bad?”

 

“He's just some guy. If anything, this'll just endear him to you.”

 

“Yeah. You're right, I guess.” She does feel a little better. Was this Sam Wilson's superpower?

Make people feel better despite how ridiculous they are?

 

She flutters her eyes at him and pointedly glances down to his lips.

 

“No, oh no you don't, girl. We may both be drunk, but I am not _that_ drunk.” 

 

She pouts and he only laughs at her, obliging her whining with a playful kiss on the nose. “Now there. Now you can't say I didn't kiss you.” 

 

She smiles so wide that her eyes close and he lets out bark of laughter. “You're my favorite, Sam Wilson. Don't let anyone tell you different.” 

 

“Time to sleep, drunky.” 

 

=

 

She takes Sam's bed that night while he, ever the gentleman even in his inebriated state, sleeps on the couch. Darcy blearily kisses him on the cheek in thanks and leaves his apartment... which happens to be right next to Steve's and right when said resident decides to exit his own home. 

 

His gaze racks her form, noting the rumpled condition of yesterday's clothing and her smeared makeup. Darcy flushes, wanting to tell him that nothing happened and he doesn't have to worry about anything, but it's not her place. They're not a thing and never will be. Explaining herself to this near stranger would be like admitting her shame, and she's not about that life. 

 

She shakes off his questioning look and raises her eyebrow at him in the most collected expression she could muster then struts off like she doesn't want to fling herself down a flight of stairs. 

 

=

 

Darcy sighs, arms running up and down her arms to warm herself even with the three layers of clothing.

 

It's hard enough that she got Steve as her secret santa. What in the hell would Captain America even want? She wanders down the seemingly endless maze of consumer stores and boutiques, none quite giving off the feeling that Captain America would give. Hours later, Darcy finds herself outside a quaint toy store with a local brand name and various classic holiday items.

 

A man comes up next to her, seemingly transfixed by the miniature décor just like her. She glances at him to strike up a conversation about their own wish lists when she notices something very familiar about him. That jawline. The steady brow, the haunted eyes... That's-!

 

He stiffens like he can feel her gaze on him. Not like she was being very subtle about her staring either. He turns to leave when Darcy, against all better judgment, tugs him back by his ratty sleeve.

 

“Please-!” she croaks out, “Don't go!”

 

She doesn't know what prompts him to stay, but with darting eyes looking at every hiding spot around them he nods and stays put. She lets go of his sleeve when she's confident he won't run away, but metal fingers grasp at her own and she gasps from more than the sudden cold.

 

Her mouths runs away from her and next think she knows, she's telling him of the people who missed him and that he could stay at her place until he was ready to face the Avengers. She's not totally sure if this is a safe idea but she's grasping at straws at this point and would tell him anything to get him to come with her.

 

She enters the store with him in tow, assuming correctly that he'd like a little more time before coming home with her. At least she get to use this opportunity to actually get Steve his Christmas present.

 

=

 

Back at her apartment, Darcy burrows through the back of her closet. She knows there was a reason she kept clothing from past relationships. She thanks her dumb sentimental past self for the forethought to save seemingly useless things.

 

She knocks on the bathroom door with an armful of old clothes she's 90% sure would fit Bucky.

 

“James? You okay in there?” She notices the gap in the doorway and pushes at the door, letting it swing inside to reveal Bucky staring at himself in the mirror. His hand lays on top of her shaving razor and her can of shaving cream, but he doesn't make any motion to use any of those things for himself.

 

“Want some help?”

 

He brings his helpless gaze towards her and she has her answer.

 

It takes her a few minutes to set up a chair for him to sit in and lay out her tools for ready use. He sits like a docile animal, wordless but watchful. He nods when she asks him if he wants a haircut, and Darcy hopes that all those times cutting her friends' hair in college prepared her enough for this.

 

It doesn't turn out as badly as it could have, Darcy's no designer hairstylist after all. The fringe doesn't cover his eyes and the back of his neck is free in a way that it hasn't been in a long time.

 

“There. Better, isn't it?” she asks him cheerfully. It's then that she notices how close her face is to his and that his eyes are an icier shade of blue than she remembers. She feels herself getting lost in them, her own going half-lidded. Their lips brush so softly she's unsure as to whether they even touched. They stay still, breathing carefully and eyes exploring the others', looking for a sign to continue. Next thing she knows, Bucky has her pinned to the bathroom sink, lips covering her own and hands clamped down on her wrists.

 

It's sudden but also something Darcy felt in her bones from the moment he held her hand at the toy store. All she can do is whimper under his fierce attentions.

 

With her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck, Bucky carries her to the bedroom and drops her onto the mattress, falling on top of her. She giggles at the action until he swallows them in his mouth.

 

The energy turns frantic. They tear at each other clothes, tossing them any which way. Bucky enters her without fanfare, and Darcy breathes out a harsh moan at both pleasure and surprise. He hooks her knees over his arms and pounds a furious rhythm into her hips. Darcy, used to a little more foreplay, comes with unexpected swiftness. Her hands flail, trying to grasp at any available surface. Bucky continues to fuck her through her orgasm until he joins her in bliss moments later.

 

When he finishes and their hearts slow to a normal beat, Bucky whispers on her neck, “Thank you.”

 

He falls into her and she wraps herself and the blanket around them. It's a little weird, his way of showing gratitude, but Darcy's not about to complain.

 

=

 

It's Christmas Eve, and the secret Santa gift giving party commences. Darcy's a little late to the shindig, but considering the surprise she has up her sleeve she figures she'll earn a little forgiveness on that note.

 

She bounds in, tossing Steve a decorative sack, which he catches without looking. The jerk.

 

“Guess who's your secret Santa!” She tries to add as much genuine cheer as she could muster, but only ends up cringing at the faux merry.

 

“Oh thank you. You shouldn't have...” Steve opens the bag in confusion, taking out a multitude of small children's toys.

 

Darcy decides that now's the time for the big guns. “I wasn't sure if you would like that present so I got you another gift just in case.” She brings out her hands in a “ta-dah!” manner to the closed elevator.

 

“Look, I brought a friend for Christmas!”

 

Right on cue, the doors open with a ping and Bucky steps out from the elevator looking very much like he'd rather bolt and crash out the ceiling to floor window onto the cement leagues below than be here. The Avengers' reactions range from confused but pleased (Bruce) to downright jovial (Thor), but the one reaction that will cement itself in Darcy's mind forever is Steve's.

 

His jaw drops the slightest bit and his shoulders hitch up with his stilted breath. His eyes widen a fraction and his adam's apple bobs like he's about to choke on something. His view flickers to her then back at the newly recovered Russian assassin.

 

“Bucky...” he whispers brokenly. In that instant, they reunite with a fierce hug.

 

Her heart hitches in her chest. She wonders idly if this is love; that her happiness is so tightly knit with Steve's even if they aren't that close to begin with. Ugh, feelings are complicated.

 

So she only smiles and murmurs a “Merry Christmas” though her sentiment gets lost in the commotion.

 

=

 

The party continues to rage upstairs, though Darcy finds sanctuary in Sam's apartment. Ever since the “office party that shall not be named” happened, they've become good friends to the point where Sam gave her a standing offer to use his place in case she couldn't get home. She loves that guy and marvels at the instantaneous friendship one could strike in cases of trauma or embarrassment.

 

She's about to rummage through his clothes for something to sleep in when she feels rather than sees a presence in the room. She turns and meets a certain redheaded Avenger. Darcy jumps with fright, knocking into the corner of Sam's dresser.

 

“Ah shit!” She rubs at her elbow as Natasha silently laughs at her, eyes gleaming with mirth. She shouldn't be surprised that she's here. These Avenger people have an unusual concept of “privacy”.

 

“Hey, Natasha. Can I do something for you?”

 

“You already have.” Darcy opens her mouth to speak before Natasha clarifies, suddenly serious. “I wanted to thank you for bringing him home.”

 

Ah, so that's what she's talking about. Darcy smiles softly at the redhead. “Don't worry about it. I'm happy that he's reunited with the people who love him.” She means Steve, but Darcy has a feeling that the thought extends to Natasha as well.

 

“I heard you took care of him in his time of need.”

 

“It's what anyone would do.”

 

Natasha continues like Darcy didn't say anything. She dips her head meaningfully. “Before he came to the Tower. After you found him at the shop.”

 

“OH. I, uh-- oh.” Very articulate, Darcy is. She blushes hotly, and wonders if this will become a habit, to get so damn embarrassed that her entire body temperature will spike. She should just hang around these people more often and save on the heating bill at her humble apartment.

 

“Well, it just happened, you know? And he needed it and I needed it, and I didn't know you guys were a thing but if you totally want me to disappear I get it but I totally didn't-

 

Realizing that she wasn't getting her point across accurately, she shushes Darcy up with a finger to her lips, then tracing the pout of her lower lip with aching slowness.

 

“I want to thank you. Personally.”

 

Red blooms from Darcy's neck to her cheeks. “No, please, that's not necessary! I-”

 

But Natasha will have none of it, and honestly Darcy wasn't putting up much of a fight anyway. She pushes the brunette into the wall, lips and body pinning her there with the least amount of physical force. Her lips are dry and cool, but insistent. There's no mistaking where this will all lead to. Darcy wonders how she's getting laid so many times this holiday. Maybe it's her backed up karma from the very dry spells of Christmases past.

 

Not that she's complaining in the least bit.

 

As she muses, Natasha succeeds in getting the majority of her clothing off, leaving behind only her god awful Christmas sweater.

 

“Um...” she mumbles out, suddenly self-conscious in her decidedly unsexy wear. But her fears are unfounded when Natasha nips her way down her body. She gives a particularly sly lick at the top of her belly button before placing a loud kiss on her bare mound.

 

As Natasha gives thanks to her cunt, Darcy wonders idly if this method of gratitude is a cultural thing.

 

=

 

It's the twenty-sixth, the day after Christmas. The holiday cheer is already starting to wind down though there's still a thrumming anticipation for the New Year's.

 

Darcy finds herself wanting to keep up the holiday spirit with more sexing, preferably with Natasha. It wasn't too much to ask for a repeat performance, was it? They already slept together once. That means they're friends right? (And that they could ask for things like sex...)

 

But Darcy isn't as un-suave as some people might think at first glance. She knows a little about seducing after all. So she makes her way into Natasha's apartment (courtesy of Jarvis), starts the fire, lays out a fake fur rug she got on sale from IKEA, and props up a basket of wine, chocolates, and all sorts of other sexy goodies. A pair of steaming hot cocoa stand on a distant coffee table.

 

Darcy knows better than to have it close by. It's a lesson burned into her memory.

 

It would have been a fool-proof plan... if she had been in Natasha's apartment. As it stands, Steve walks in like he owns the place, dripping ice and discarding articles of clothing until he freezes, notices Darcy, and promptly asks, “What the hell?”

 

Forgetting herself completely, Darcy stands, embarrassed yet again and indignant for it. “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

Steve's taken back by her sudden vitriol. “What am  _I_ doing here? What are  _you_ doing here?”

 

“I asked you first!”

 

“I live here!”

 

“With Natasha?” Darcy couldn't help the stab of hurt that shot through her gut at the thought. Did she read the signs wrong? Though she's all for sleeping with whom you want regardless of feelings, she doesn't enjoy being the other woman. 

 

“What? No! _I_ live here. Natasha's one floor down.” 

 

Well. That explains it. Darcy prays to every god she knows, including Thor and, begrudgingly, Loki, to have the carpet swallow her up in its furry maw and spare her from this continued embarrassment she seems to attract when around Avengers.

 

“Um. This is. Awkward.”

 

Steve levels her an unamused look. “Indeed.”

 

This is just all sorts of horrible. First she makes a complete ass of herself in front of her longtime crush at the office Christmas party, gets caught doing the walk of shame (sort of) from his friend's apartment, then she gets him as a secret santa when she doesn't have a clue what to get him, and now this. It's like the universe is telling her that she should stop while she's ahead and doesn't degrade herself further in front of him.

 

The utter mortification on her face must garner some sympathy because Steve's stern brow smooths into empathy and even the corner of his mouth twitches in some sort of amusement.

 

“When's my turn?”

 

“What?”

 

“I feel like everyone around me has taken you for a ride. I was wondering when it would be my turn.”

 

“WHAT.”

 

And like a switch, Steve returns to his sweet-mannered self and stutters out apologies, “I'm so sor- Miss Lewis. I'm sorry. I cannot believe how rude I'm being. Please forgive me.”

 

She waves him off with a “Don't sweat it.” Fortunately for him, it's nearly impossible to offend Darcy so she takes this all in stride. She decides then and there that if she had already embarrassed herself in front of this guy (and he in turn embarrassed himself in front of her) she can summon a little more courage for this next bit.

 

“You'd be next on my list, Cap, if sex was all I wanted from you.”

 

His stunned expression is something that Darcy will keep in her pocket for days to come.

 

“You mean...” His cheeks glow with a sweet blush, and she's sure that her face sports a similar look.

 

She nods. “Wanna be my date for New Year's? And maybe for the rest of 2015?”

 

He rushes her into his arms and spins her around, mouth landing on hers in a deep kiss.

 

She sports a goofy smile on her face. “Huh! I guess even naughty girls get their Christmas wish sometimes!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense, it's still technically Steve/Darcy. Also how can you mention Bucky in a Steve/Darcy and NOT want an OT3? Lol jk I'm biased, I know.


End file.
